


Receiving Grace

by Calamity_Hero_Awakens



Series: Grace [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fi Is Just Kinda There, Gen, Ghirahim Doesn't Believe He Deserves Forgiveness, Hylia Is Best Mom, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, he does tho, sad boy hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamity_Hero_Awakens/pseuds/Calamity_Hero_Awakens
Summary: Demise had created Ghirahim by hand. He had put care into his creation, had given him a body, a heart, emotions, a purpose. Ghirahim wished he hadn't.
Series: Grace [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790293
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Receiving Grace

Demise had not been good, not in any way. Creating Ghirahim had been a selfish act, though the demon lord refused to see it that way. Demise had created him by hand. He had put care into his creation, had given him a body, a heart, emotions, a purpose.

Ghirahim wished he hadn't.

He loathed the skychild, he really did. With every encounter, he became all the more angrier. Everytime their blades clashed, Ghirahim was out for blood. It was all he knew. It was all he had been taught. He had been given life for one purpose and come hell or high water, he was going to fulfill that purpose. No demon, no goddess, and especially no mortal was going to stand in his way.

Until they did.

With the death of his master, Ghirahim lost everything. Demise had never been kind. Evil incarnate knew no kindness. Regardless, Ghirahim had learned all he knew from his master, every concept, every emotion, it all centered around Demise. He was Ghirahim's purpose. The death of his master was the death of him.

Except that it wasn't.

Physically, Ghirahim was very much alive. He just didn't feel it. With no one to wield him, he chose to stay in his physical form. After all, a weapon without a wielder was a useless item. That was what he had become. Useless.

The emptiness was what ate at him the most. He had no purpose, no reason to exist anymore. All he had known was simply gone. It was in the deepest pits of his despair that Ghirahim cursed his master. The skychild's sword spirit had been created without emotions. She was a guide, a book of facts, and nothing more. She did not feel; she analyzed. Why hadn't Demise created him likewise?

Even without a master, Ghirahim clung to him. He could not perform simple tasks without worrying about his master's opinion. The rare, fleeting moments when he was overcome with anger and resentment for Demise were followed by long stretches of time of repentance. Of course, Demise could neither hear nor forgive him. That still didn't stop the guilt from filling Ghirahim until he was sure he would burst.

As a sword spirit, Ghirahim required no sleep. That didn't keep him from sleeping for days at a time though. With no purpose, no goal, no reason to keep going, Ghirahim simply decided to sleep his life away.

It was in one of those periods of rest that he received the one thing he needed most.

✨ ✨ ✨

The area felt unfamiliar to Ghirahim though it held a feeling of nostalgia. The beautiful expanse of a forest stretched in every direction, surrounding him completely. A gentle breeze rustled the perfect green leaves and grass, carrying the sound of a gentle voice to his ears.

"Ghirahim," the voice whispered on the wind. The owner of the voice was nowhere to be seen and the sound was too faint to make out anything else about it. The sword spirit let his ears be his guide, listening to the gentle sound as it drifted to him through the trees.

When the voice's owner came into sight, a wave of nausea came over him, stronger than the feeling he had harbored in his gut since his master had been killed. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by trees, was the goddess Hylia. The cool breeze didn't touch her; her white garments and golden hair remained stationary despite the movement around her. To one side of her was a vaguely familiar face.

At first, the goddess said nothing, allowing Ghirahim to take in the sight of her and the feminine, expressionless sword spirit at her side. The longest of moments passed as Ghirahim simply stared, his gut twisted in knots. Judging by the fact that Fi was with the goddess Hylia, Ghirahim knew that the hero must have returned the Master Sword to its pedestal to rest once more.

"Ghirahim," Hylia's soft, sweet voice spoke. Without realizing it, Ghirahim had been holding his breath. "Come to me." The beautiful immortal stretched her arms out, beckoning the demon to her.

His chest was tight and the air rushed from his lungs which refused to reinflate. Shaking hands reached up and grasped his arms, holding himself tight, as if he would fall apart if his grip faltered. When the oxygen finally rushed back into his aching lungs, Ghirahim slowly shook his head. His gaze darted from the goddess to the sword spirit at her side and finally to the ground in front of him. With a quiet, unsteady voice, he slowly spoke.

"You created Fi to guide the hero. Once her purpose was fulfilled, she returned to you, her physical form resting until her master reclaims her. Without a master, I have no purpose."

"Let me give you a purpose, Ghirahim." Hylia's voice was gentle, offering nothing but kindness. Kindness, a thing Ghirahim had never received.

A lump formed in his throat and his vision began to blur; the grip on his arms tightened, turning his knuckles white and making his arms ache. Silence hung in the air as Ghirahim took several breaths to quell his emotions enough to speak.

"I've spent my entire life opposing you. I've done everything in my power to destroy you. I've cursed you, despised you, loathed you..." His vision was blurred over, everything morphing into blurry colours, shapes completely lost. "I've done nothing to earn your kindness."

"Ghirahim," the goddess said, her voice sad. With his vision distorted, Ghirahim could only hear her voice and movements and was unprepared when her arms wrapped around him, pulling him against her.

The dam broke, the tears swimming in Ghirahim's eyes spilling over and drenching his face as well as the white dress of the goddess. His sobs were violent, making his body convulse in the arms encompassing him. He struggled to breathe between loud sobs and when he finally drew in enough air, it immediately rushed out in a loud, ragged pant.

With his face buried in the goddess's shoulder, Ghirahim's hands finally relinquished their bruising grip on his arms, instead gripping fistfuls of the white fabric draped over the immortal woman who held him. His body shook with the force of his sobs, but not once did the goddess's hold on him lessen.

The broken sword spirit sobbed, crying out for something, though he was unsure what. Every emotion he had suffered through since Demise's death washed over him with an intensity he had never felt, threatening to drown him.

Time meant nothing and Ghirahim had no idea how much had passed by the time his breathing evened out enough that he could pull his face from Hylia's shoulder. Gazing into the perfect eyes of the goddess, the masculine spirit let the tears flow, dripping down his cheeks and neck as his lip quivered. Never had he felt so vulnerable, so completely helpless.

"Ghirahim," Hylia finally spoke. "You were created with a purpose and knew nothing else. The intentions of your master were all you were taught, they were all you knew. The same is true of Fi. She was created with a purpose and, though she has learned much, her purpose is essentially all she knows."

A soft hand slid under Ghirahim's chin, tilting his head so the two locked eyes. "You have to let Demise go. It is a harsh reality, but he did not care for you and he never could. He saw you as a tool and nothing more."

A tearful hiccup escaped Ghirahim's quivering lips at her words. The words held a painful truth that he struggled to accept despite knowing their accuracy.

"Let me give you a purpose," Hylia gently prodded. "Let me show you the kindness you deserve, because you do deserve to be loved."

Ghirahim's body was a wreck. His eyes were puffy and his face was soaking wet. His diaphragm refused to relax, making him hiccup and draw in sharp, quick breaths. His entire body was weak and shaky, his legs barely supporting his weight. Had he been able to find his breaths, he would have argued. He did not deserve kindness, he did not deserve love.

Arms protectively wrapped around the quivering, broken man, the golden goddess gazed down on him with a look of pure love and adoration before speaking the words that reduced Ghirahim to tears once more.

"You are forgiven."


End file.
